


the voices died with me

by koalaboy



Category: Constantine: The Hellblazer (Comics), Hellblazer, Hellblazer & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Cheryl is a good sister y’all can fight me about it, Emetophobia, Hospitals, Other, Self Harm, Suicide Attempt, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 21:37:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19237585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koalaboy/pseuds/koalaboy
Summary: It was raining, his roof was leaking, and he was going to die today.





	the voices died with me

**Author's Note:**

> Basically just a vent fic and before anyone asks, yes, I’m alright.

It was raining, his roof was leaking, and he was going to die today. John stripped himself down to his boxers. It seemed sensible to him not to dirty any of his clothes. Gemma had always loved his coat and it would be a shame to see it thrown away if he were to stain it. He wanted her to have it and the coat knew it, too. It would take good care of her once he was gone. Using a pair of scissors, he cut the little plastic side off of his cheap razor and pried the tiny blade free. It was far more flexible than his old father’s razor blades that he’d stolen as a teen. He set it down carefully on the side of the bathtub. His apartment was so small that he’d managed to get the telephone cord to reach into the bathroom. He climbed into the tub and picked up the phone. He dialled his sister’s number. With each ring, tears welled in his eyes. 

Cheryl gave the phone a puzzled look when it rang. The only reason she was even awake so late was because Tony had banned the TV, claiming it contradicted the Resurrection Crusade’s beliefs. So shitty 1 a.m. television it was. She picked it up, her heart pounding in her chest.

“Hullo?”

When John finally heard her voice, the tears spilled down his cheeks. He choked out a sob. 

“ Cher, s’me…” he mumbled. The alcohol was thick in his voice. He swallowed back the vomit that was creeping up his throat.

“John? Are you alright, luv?” she asked, sitting forward and muting the TV. She was no psychic, but she knew something wasn’t right.

He sniffled, wiping his nose with the back of his hand, “Y-yeah. Yeah, ‘m fine. Jus’ wanted to call.”

“You never just call. I always get on your arse about it.”

He laughed quietly, brushing his fingers over the blade in contemplation. The metal was cold against his skin. “Yeah, y’do. I, um, jus’ wanna say you did good… raisin’ me. Without mam around an’ all. An’ yer doin’ a good job with li’l Gem, too.”

There was an uncomfortable silence on the other end of the phone, “How much have you had to drink?”

“Er… couple bottles,” he admitted. “Keeps-- keeps the voices out… the ghosts away…”

Cheryl paused, eyes wide and chest heavy with dread, “You been hearin’ voices, our John?”

“Mhmm. They keep sayin’ bad things an’ I can’t fuckin’ sleep an’ everythin’ s’so fuckin’ dirty everywhere there’s dust an’ I can see it all in the light-- an’ that girl’s down in Hell ‘cause of me. She’s down there ‘cause of what I did. I gotta make it right. I gotta-- I gotta make it right. I don’t fuckin’ deserve to be here!” 

The volume of his voice grew louder with each word until his shouts forced Cheryl to lift the phone away from her ear. 

“Are you at home? I’ll come over, yeah?” she said, her voice shaking just as much as her hands, “I’ll come right now and put the kettle on. How about that?”

“No, no s’alright,” he murmured, “I-I don’t wanna bother you no more. I love you an’ Gem so so much, Cheryl… yer the lights of me bloody life, you know that?”

He hung up the phone, watching with annoyance as it slipped from the edge of the bath and onto the floor. It didn’t really matter anymore, he supposed. 

“John? John?!” Cheryl screamed, sure that Tony would yell at her later for waking him up. She dialled for an ambulance and gave them John’s address. She felt sick. He wouldn’t... surely, he wouldn’t. He’d always been too much of an egotistical bastard to off himself before. Something was different—he was off his pills or had taken too many. She’d seen him so manic he didn’t make sense, but now he just seemed empty. Desperate. A desperate John was terrifying.

“What the fuck is it, woman?” Tony grumbled, stomping into their living room.

“Get dressed or don’t, you bastard. I don’t care. Me and Gemma are leaving right now.”

“What the fuck? Now?” 

She marched into their bedroom and shoved some clothes into an overnight bag, moving as fast as she could. 

“Yes, right now. It’s John. It’s bad.”

Tony went quiet and helped her pack. At least he was good for something, she thought. 

John laid back into the bath. He hissed as the cold acrylic of the tub soaked into his skin. 

“Yeah, yeah. M’gettin’ there,” he muttered, addressing any demons—or angels—waiting in the peripherals of his vision to claim his soul. He took the blade and made a long, deep slit up each wrist, slicing through old and new cuts. He let out a soft whimper of distress from the pain and the blood, his breathing quickening as panic set in. His muscles tended and twitched.Tears began to fall again and he choked out vomit, barely able to lean over the side of the tub. Some of it got on him; this was not how he wanted to go, but somehow, it was how he’d always imagined it, realistically speaking. Eventually, his vision fading, he closed his eyes and waited to spit at the First of the Fallen.

To John’s dismay, he woke up. He coughed, his lungs aching and the oxygen mask over his face making him squirm. He managed to knock it off before Cheryl was at his side and clinging to his arm.

“W-wh—“

“It’s alright, our John, it’s alright,” she said as her her cheaply manicured and chipped fingernails combed through his hair.

He leaned into her as much as the sides of the hospital bed and his IV would allow him. He began to cry; exhausted, heartbroken, and loud tears of betrayal and anguish. Cheryl kept hers quiet, trying to stay strong for her little brother. He would hate her for this, for a while, at least. 

“You should’ve told me it was getting bad again, luv,” she whispered. 

John looked down at the thick bandages that were wrapped around his arms. He tried to move his fingers and whined when they refused to respond as much as he would have liked.

“S-So what? So y-you could—“ he sniffled and coughed, “—throw me back in Ravenscar? Shove old John back in the fuckin’ nuthouse, get him out of our hair.”

Cheryl pulled the blanket from the bottom of his bed up to his chest and tucked him in, “What was I supposed to do? They said you killed a child. I didn’t believe them, but that didn’t change a thing.”

“ _Didn’t_ believe them, eh?” he muttered bitterly, picking at the frayed edges of the blanket. 

Cheryl cleared her throat, “Tony took Gemma down to the cafeteria to get ice cream. She’s worried about you. We all are.”

“I’m surprised he came. What was it he called me? A disgustin’ heathen? Or was it a satanic faggot? I can’t quite remember. Anyway, I want the last one on a jacket.” 

Cheryl rolled her eyes and shoved him playfully with her arm, “I love you, John Constantine.”

“Mm,” he grunted back, which was as close as she was going to get for right now. He fell back asleep almost immediately.


End file.
